


Play

by lacemonster



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathtub Sex, Canonical Character Death, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Oral Sex, Plushophilia, Pseudo-Incest, Size Difference, Taboo, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 17:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12752550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/pseuds/lacemonster
Summary: With Bruce gone, Dick has to take over as Batman.And part of taking Bruce's place also means having to raise the son he left behind.Extreme content warning. Please read tags and notes before reading.





	Play

**Author's Note:**

> NOTICE PLEASE READ
> 
> This whole fic is just... pure sin. Please don't read if you're sensitive to content, especially if it pertains to unhealthy relationships. I will ignore and delete any upset comments left by people who did not heed to the warnings/tags.
> 
> This story is a really convoluted, gross way of exploring daddy kink. It plays on the complicated relationship Dick and Damian have.
> 
> When I was writing this, I wanted to make porn that was a little angsty, a little romantic, and a little creepy. The incestuous undertones are an important part of the plot of this fic. So if this does not sound like your cup of tea, please don't read.
> 
> This story is... a lot of porn. I basically wrote scenes of this whenever I was in the mood for sad smut, lol. So if it seems like a lot... that's why.
> 
> Also, apologies ahead of time if I make Bruce sound like an ass in this fic. I love Bruce, it's just that I needed to exploit his flaws for this fic. :')
> 
> This story takes place during Morrison's Batman and Robin run, where Batman is assumed dead, and Dick and Damian are Batman and Robin.

 

Dick still remembered the day of his wedding.

The older circus girls had woven blades of grass into makeshift rings. They took Dick’s friend, the child component of the family acrobatic trio, and had given her a bouquet of weeds and wildflowers. They had snuck into the dressing room, plastered the poor bride’s face in glitter and jarring blush, and managed to borrow the magician’s bowtie for Dick.

Dick and the girl were set to be married with the camels and elephants as their witnesses. But when it came time to kiss, his blushing bride whacked him in the face with the bouquet and took off running towards the trailers.

The pollen had gotten into his nose and his eyes were watering for the rest of the day.

It might not have been worth it but occasionally, throughout the years, Dick would suddenly remember that day and smile.

The situation had been a total mess—but it had been fun, playing pretend.

 

“What do you see?”

“What are you blabbing about?”

“In the clouds.”

“Cumulus.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Oh. Titanium white mixed with cerulean blue.”

A sigh. “I see a whale. Don't you? Look, there's the tail.”

“You're distracting me.”

“What, you've never looked for shapes in the clouds?”

The glass palette was set down on the table with a loud clatter. Dick rolled his head on the bench, glancing over at Damian, who was pinching the bridge of his nose in a motion that made him look twenty years older. Damian had finally stepped aside from his canvas long enough for Dick to get a glance.

Damian was textbook good at painting. Like everything else, he had the technique perfected. Dick gave a low whistle.

“Nice.”

Damian realized what Dick was referring to. Grumbling, he said, “It's not finished.”

“As is, it's better than anything I could do.”

“No need to point out the obvious,” Damian said, snorting. “Unlike you, I was actually trained to do more than fancy somersaults.”

Dick rolled his eyes. But he found himself swinging his legs over the bench and getting up. A light breeze came in, carrying the smell of turpentine. He took a closer look at the painted landscape, which depicted the Wayne estates. He could feel Damian glaring daggers into his back, and he also made note of the missing metal palette knife from the table but he ignored it.

“I always figured being artsy was something people were born with. Refined by practice, yes, but not everyone is born with an eye for it...” Dick said. He looked back at Damian, who seemed like he wasn't sure what to make of his words. Dick stuffed his hands in his pockets and elaborated. “Your grandmother was a painter, you know. Those abstracts in the study? Those are hers.”

Damian, for once, didn't retort with anything biting. In fact, his expression was oddly void of any trace of antagonism. Dick guessed he was surprised by this news—Dick also guessed that Damian wanted Dick to continue, considering he hadn't interrupted yet.

“She also did those oil portraits that hang in the back hallway. You know, those tiny ones in the oval frames? Those ones. I guess she started out doing realism and moved her way into doing abstract.” Dick tilted his head. “Did you know that?”

“No one told me,” Damian said, somewhat defensively. He shrugged a shoulder dismissively, like he didn't care. Even so, Dick went on.

“I think your dad even has some old sketchbooks laying around—but he's more of a designer than an artist. Most of our equipment was designed by him—but you probably guessed that much.”

“I never really knew him,” Damian said, somewhat bluntly. And Dick stopped and thought about it, gaze fading off into the distance. Beyond the yard in the frame and past the gate was the family cemetery. He supposed Bruce's time was short, and yet considering his lifestyle, it was miraculous he had lived as long as he did.

But he could admit that Bruce’s time with Damian had been especially short.

Dick had never considered Bruce to be his father, despite what everyone believed. A mentor, a best friend, a brother in some ways—but Dick’s memories of his own dad were too strong for him to ever call Bruce his _father_. Dick could admit that Bruce filled John’s spaces in some ways—as the presence of a male role model, as someone to depend upon and learn from. With Bruce gone now, Dick supposed it was time for him to fill his role—in more ways than just wearing a cape and cowl.

Dick placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, who surprisingly did not swat it away. The younger just looked up at him, curious.

“I'm here for you now.”

 

Dick couldn't be a father.

He had thought of it, he supposed. In younger, more naive, days with Kory. They had danced around the idea—saying it, but not _really_ saying it—and there were days he dreamt of it. A girl—sometimes a boy—with golden skin and dark hair and big green eyes.

But time passed, relationships and all of the following aspirations fading with time. He wasn't quite so old, he supposed. Lots of people around his age didn’t have kids. But the issue was that he had aged and the impulse to _settle down_ had not aged with him. He believed that by the time the impulses would catch up, it would be too late.

Dick kept this in the back of his mind with Damian. Perhaps Dick was acting out in some sort of strange self-indulgence, amidst the excuses that he was doing this for Damian's sake.

Damian, who couldn't have a father, because his father was dead.

But really it was Dick, who'd love to have a child to spoil, but couldn't.

“What is this?” Damian asked, tone sharp. Voice nearly indignant.

“A gift.”

“A _toy_.”

Dick didn't understand why Damian said the word like it was a bad thing. “It's just a teddy bear.”

“I have no need for such things.”

No anger, just frustration. “Amuse me.”

 _Self-indulgent_ , Dick thought to himself with a sense of shame when Damian glared down the gift. But then Damian pulled the rest of the bear out of the bag and tucked it underneath his arm.

“Whatever,” Damian said, stomping off, the bear’s plush legs dangling by his side. And Dick felt a little less selfish.

 

Damian would say it condescendingly—whenever Dick worried too much or lectured him or tried too hard to pretend to be Batman.

 _Okay, Father_. Voice snide, sneering.

But while Damian’s brattiness annoyed him to no end, Dick’s brain would still latch onto the phrase, feeling a warmth inside of him at the sound of those four syllables.

One night, in a tense car ride to the batcave, after a long argument over how patrol went, Damian said it again:

“Okay, Father.”

And Dick, even though he should have been mad, fixated on those words. He had wondered for a long time _why_ Damian would say that, of all things. His mind led to the idea that maybe Damian _wanted_ to say it.

Dick’s mouth opened, and instead of continuing his scolding, he said, “You can practice saying it around me.”

He could feel the set of eyes lingering on him, staring almost cautiously. Dick felt strangely nervous—his mouth went dry, gloved hands tightening around the steering wheel. Maybe he was pushing the boundaries of this relationship.

Maybe things would be better if they were just mentor and sidekick, and nothing more.

Even so, he elaborated, his heartbeat steadying, “You can call me ‘father’, if you want.”

It had nothing to do with their argument and yet the fighting settled all the same, falling into resolved silence. There was no cruel, defensive remark thrown in Dick’s direction. Instead, Damian was quiet in his seat, as if that was all Dick needed to say to earn his cooperation.

As if after all of the fighting, just hearing that was all Damian wanted.

 

The word was never spoken in the presence of another. Not Alfred, not Tim, not even a stranger. It was a private word, a secret, for only Dick’s ears. And in a way, there was still a game of sorts as to when Damian would say it. He still said it sarcastically but would only say it _seriously_ in specific circumstances. It felt like a surprising treat every time the word was spoken, and Dick’s heart would race faster, and over time Dick began to notice Damian’s patterns.

Usually when Dick trusted him with great responsibilities, Damian would say it. _Yes, Father_. And Dick imagined, in those moments, it was when Damian wanted a father the most.

And in ways, allowing the title had brought a change in Damian. A subtle, but still present, eagerness to please. To listen to instruction. And the ability to thank Dick for an added task felt as much of a reward to Damian as it did to Dick.

And it changed Dick in ways too. It brought out the more nurturing, protective ways in his personality. When Damian listened, Dick felt this strange sense of pride, as if he was the one who instilled it. As if through Dick’s guidance, their partnership had grown.

“You handled those criminals pretty well.”

“Yes, Father,” he said. Practicing. When no one was around.

Without even meaning to, Dick’s gloved hand found its way through Damian’s hair. A motion that was all too reminiscent of Dick’s childhood. He said without even thinking, “You're such a good boy.”

The words slipped off Dick's tongue without meaning to.

Heat rose to his face, mixed feelings in his chest as old memories filled his mind. A gruff voice, one that Dick had grown accustomed to over time:

 _That's my boy_. With pride.

 _Don't hurt my boy_. A chill.

Dick’s eyes faded a little, remembering. He felt as if he had trespassed on something that was supposed to be sacred. Something that was private, a name intended for a young, acrobatic sidekick. And the feeling of letting it go, of _handing it down_ , was so overwhelming that Dick felt like he was grieving all over again.

 _Don't call him boy_.

But then Dick looked at Damian, who was silenced. His head was turned away but Dick could catch the red that was practically glowing on his cheeks and ears. It was so unexpected that Dick felt a sudden laugh sitting in his diaphragm, but he kept his mouth shut in the fear that Damian would take it as a cue to stomp on his foot and flee.

But the amusement filled him with this warmth. This sense of pride and need to protect, and he wondered if Bruce ever felt the same way. So he found himself seeking that reaction again, and with more conviction, he ran the hand through Damian’s hair and said once again, “You're such a good boy.”

 

If they weren't just partners, and if they weren't family, then what were they?

What were they?

Dick was forced to confront that question when he was supposed to be asleep.

He and Bruce shared a bed at times, back when Dick was just Damian’s age. With the dynamics of their relationship beginning to lean towards nurturing, Dick didn't think twice when Damian demanded to fill the empty space in Dick’s bed. Dick had a faint suspicion that Damian’s motivations were only to imitate Bruce and Dick’s relationship, but that felt like all the more reason to add an extra pillow on the mattress.

It was a professionally intimate arrangement. They shared a bed but Dick was restricted to one side of the king mattress and Damian to the other. Sometimes upon waking up, Dick would be closer to Damian’s side, or he'd wind up hanging off the edge. It all depended on where Dick’s body decided to travel when he was asleep. Once he woke up completely flipped around, and Damian shoved him for having _the audacity_ to let his _wretched feet_ so close to the boy’s face.

This night he awoke closer to Damian’s side of the bed. But the room was still dark. Dick was having troubles sleeping lately and would wake up periodically throughout the night. Nothing new. But this time he sensed, even before his eyes opened, that he was awoken for an outside reason.

He heard a soft noise next to him, cutting through the silence. A gentle exhale, almost whispered. Carefully, he opened one eye, greeted by the darkness. But his tired eyes still saw a shift in the shadows next to him. As his trained gaze focused, adjusting to the dim light, he became more and more aware of what was happening.

His heart skipped when he heard the sound again. An almost pained sigh.

Damian was moving against the bed. Squirming. The mattress shifted ever so slightly, the covers pulling, underneath his movements. Dick’s breath stilled inside his chest. At first, he wondered if he mistook the nature of the noise. Even wondered, with worry, if Damian was hurting or having a nightmare. But Dick’s gaze travelled lower and he found himself swallowing, heat burning on his face, as his original suspicions were confirmed.

Subtle movements in Damian’s hips. He was rutting against the mattress, his hitched breaths indicating his restrained pleasure. Sheets pulled taut in his hands. Dick should have looked away. Maybe he should have rolled over to scare Damian into stopping, while still pretending to be asleep. But he found himself transfixed. Transfixed watching this boy try to pleasure himself in the only way he knew how.

His boy.

And miraculously, he felt it. The same warm feeling in his chest that he always felt when Damian was good and listened. The same feeling whenever Damian called him ‘father’.

That feeling of pride. That desire to care for him, protect him.

Teach him.

And the idea of it scared him. Scared him that he had corrupted this relationship to this point.

And yet he couldn't look away.

As he stared longer, he made out another shape in the shadow. Between Damian’s legs. At first Dick mistook it for a pillow, but he realized with shock that it was his gift. The unnamed bear. Damian had stuck it in Dick’s room long ago, barely touching it. Even used it as a divider, until that one morning when they woke up with the bear uncomfortably sandwiched between them. Dick could still recall finding it at the store—remembered feeling the softness against his hand and impulsively buying it, because he wanted Damian to feel it too.

This wasn't what Dick imagined his gift would be used for. It should have felt crude but it didn't. It made the whole thing all the more innocent. All the more sweet. Damian didn't know what he was doing—he was simply chasing after his pleasure. And that only made it all the more endearing, because Damian deserved it. He deserved to feel good. And Dick felt proud that he could somehow be involved in that.

But there was something underlying Dick’s affection too. He began to feel a stirring run through his body—heat travelling from his face to his chest to his abdomen to his groin. His love for this boy didn't make him nearly as disturbed as it should have. Dick didn't even have the grace of feeling awkward and embarrassed. Damian’s breathing remained at the same pitch—controlled, even though he must have been in ecstasy. But to Dick’s focused ears, it seemed louder. He could hear the wisps of pleasure and frustration laced in Damian’s voice. The sounds occasionally muffled as Damian tried to silence his moans but _couldn't_ , just barely being able to bite back his volume through closed lips.

It excited Dick. Made his heart pound against his chest. Made his head all hazy.

Small hips rolled forward, the hem of his pajama top just barely pushed up to reveal part of his back. Dick stared, mesmerized at the moonlit flesh, wanting to touch it. Wanting to touch Damian, feel his skin. Test its smoothness, its warmth. There was no rhythm to Damian’s movements, just blind rutting, voice almost whimpering, and Dick could feel his cock beginning to stiffen.

He wondered what he should do in this predicament—and he found himself wanting to pull Damian closer to his body. To slip his hand down Damian’s pants and show him how to make himself feel good.

He just wanted to help Damian.

 _No_ , he wanted to pleasure Damian.

But he couldn't.

It’d be wrong.

So he stayed still.

But he didn't close his eyes.

Damian bucking up against the bear. How frustrating the confines of his clothes must have been. If only Dick could tell him to take it off—

As advice.

 _No_ , because he wanted to see his skin. Wanted to see Damian's erection. Wanted to touch it.

 _Stop thinking like that_.

He was just a boy.

 _My boy_.

A stutter through Damian’s movements. A sharp gasp that sent a spark down Dick’s spine, a flood of heat through his body. Fuck, he was hard. He could feel the sheets brush against his bare, hot skin and the contact on his flesh drove him mad with desire to touch and be touched. All the while, Damian’s voice felt tangible, like Dick could grasp every moan. Dick wanted more.

 _Okay, Father_.

 _Yes, Father_.

How good would the bear feel against Damian’s naked skin? How erotic would it be to watch Damian push his bare, hardened member against a _toy_?

How good would Damian’s skin feel against Dick’s own?

Damian would let him, if Dick tried.

He'd be humiliated for being found out, yes. Maybe his face would even grow all red, like when Dick called him ‘boy’, all angry and blushing and rude but still oddly cute and sweet. And for all of Damian’s toughness around anyone else, if Dick touched him… he knew Damian would let him.

 _Such a good boy_.

He'd let Dick touch his cock, suck on his lips, hold him against his chest, whisper compliments and praise in his ears. He'd let Dick replace the bear, easily.

And Dick would let Damian rub his cock against him, hold on as tightly as he needed to, let him voice all the pleasure he wanted.

Damian was moving a little faster now, the bear tucked between his legs. Dick was having a difficult time watching, his erection strained against the front of his sleeping shorts, seeking its own friction but Dick didn't dare to move. Didn’t dare to even breathe funny, less give himself away. Damian’s soft sounds grew increasingly wanton, and yet he still tried to hold back. His sounds were almost pained, growing in frequency. Quickening breaths like shivers. Gasp after gasp after gasp.

Dick’s gaze, fixated on the rolling of Damian’s hips. Watching his ass move as his groin pushed against the bear. Imagined tucking his own cock between the cheeks, to feel the heat coming off of his boy’s body. To feel Damian rocking back against his cock, sounding just as desperate and needy as he did now.

Damian made a sudden sound, snapping Dick out of his fantasies. Dick’s held breath swelled inside his chest. He stared in wonder as Damian’s entire body trembled and shook. Over and over. The moan was elongated as Damian reached his orgasm.

Such sweet sounds. Dick nearly shuddered in place, cock aching hard. When Damian finally stilled, Damian began to pull at his clothes and sheets to clean himself off, and Dick was forced to close his eyes. To pretend he hadn't seen anything. To pretend he had been asleep.

 _Just pretend_.

 

His fingers were starting to prune from the water.

He always spent too much time in the shower. He had been yelled at for it several times in his life—Alfred trying to rush him off to school, Bruce minding their time, Kory wanting her turn before barging her way in anyways. He had even fallen asleep in the damn thing before.

With Damian sleeping in his room, Dick didn't get much privacy anymore.

With Damian sleeping in his room, Dick needed the privacy more than ever.

It was cruel to think such a thought—but Dick felt, in his core, that he had made a mistake.

He thought this whenever his hand was wrapped around his cock and the water was streaming down his hair and the steam filled his lungs. His hand, so perfectly formed around his hard-on, that he couldn't help but imagine it elsewhere.

It was cruel to think.

But he knew he wasted his chance.

Damian was _right there_. Desperate and aching and wanting. So close that Dick could smell his sweat, feel the warmth coming off his body, could hear even his softest sighs. So close that Dick could have tasted and touched if he had only _bucked up and did it._

 _No_ , he did the right thing.

Damian was just a boy. And not just any boy.

His sidekick. Bruce’s son.

 _Bruce’s son_.

Lately that thought filled him with so much jealousy and affection all at once.

Bruce’s ghost haunted him as much as Damian’s whispers.

Dick didn't want to be a stand-in but he knew how important it was for him to be exactly that. He needed to recognize, needed to _embrace_ , his place in Damian’s life. The reality is that he couldn't substitute himself as Bruce, because no one could replace an actual father. No one could replace _Bruce_. And Dick knew that he could only try. That he had to be there for Damian without any expectations for something greater.

And yet whenever Damian called him _father_ , he wanted him to mean it, even when he was afraid of it all the same.

 _Okay, Father_.

Dick closed his eyes. In the darkness, water pelting against his skin, he focused only on the heat. Focused on the wet slide of his hand on his cock. Mind twisting and turning over what he was allowed to fantasize about and what he was not. Replacing redheaded supermodels over dark hair and dark skin. Imagining curves over squared shoulders and a flat chest. Pasting painted, luscious mouths over chapped lips.

Chapped lips that kept getting bit despite Dick’s scoldings. Tiny teeth pressed down and Dick wasn't so much afraid of blood as he was afraid of wanting to try biting them himself.

Shouldn't be thinking about that.

He did anyways, his hand wet and tight around his cock as he imagined Damian’s mouth.

It made his legs weak and he had to lean against the misty shower glass as he fisted his cock. His eyelids parted open and he looked down at his erection and he could practically envision Damian kneeling right before him. Right there. Tiny tongue and mouth tasting him. Knees on the bathmat, water droplets on dark skin.

A vague memory returned to Dick’s mind—Damian, after getting pushed into the pool, coming out livid but shivering.

Droplets running down dark strands and decorating long eyelashes.

Yet another memory corrupted because Dick just couldn't control himself.

He ruined his chance.

Damian was next to him, rutting against the damned bear that Dick bought him, and all Dick had to do was take the chance to lose that control. All he had to do was turn the boy over, climb on top of him, push him deep into the mattress—

He lost so many nights of sleep after that, in anticipation that maybe Damian would do it again. That maybe the opportunity would come.

So he could do the right thing and keep his hands to himself.

 _No_ , so he could have new masturbation fodder because he was sick and spent his time in the shower fantasizing about fucking his boy sidekick’s mouth.

It was so easy to imagine the scenario he wanted, even while knowing the truth is that he would clam up if the situation ever arrived again. Easy to imagine wrapping his mouth around the boy’s cock and getting him off, while letting Damian suck him in return. Or maybe he'd let Damian do what he pleased with the bear, while fucking him from behind, listening to his restrained moans turn into screams of pleasure.

His hand was tight around his cock, twisting closer to the head now. Recognizing the pleasure building in his groin, he responded with what felt best. The water felt hot. His breath was quickening. He imagined Damian on his front, pressed against his bear. He imagined himself on top of him, their bodies flushed, his weight pinning Damian down, cock shoved deep inside.

Bodies connected and locked in place.

Memories of a small voice in his mind. Gasping, sighing, moaning.

 _Yes, Father_.

It was the last thing that should have pushed Dick over the edge, but it did.

 

Dick was awake earlier than usual. His sleep schedule was inconsistent, as opposed to Damian who always set an alarm for himself. It was a chilly day after a week of on-and-off rain. Dick was in the parlor when Damian, on the clock, was passing through and ready to make his morning run.

Dick’s eyes followed him. He heard the door open and immediately got up.

“Wait,” he said and Damian stopped, giving him an impatient look. “It's cold out. Don't you need a sweater?”

Damian gave him a droll look. “I'll manage.”

“Just take something,” Dick said, moving toward the coatrack.

Damian’s eyes cautiously followed him. When Dick returned with his hoodie, Damian’s eyes rolled.

But he didn't leave.

In fact, he held out his arm. Dick blinked, surprised, but he helped guide the sleeves onto Damian’s shoulders.

His hands roamed on the knit fabric, feeling the small shoulders, and Dick’s gaze softened. He almost felt like he should be thanking Damian for allowing him this small pleasure.

Lately, Damian had been very good about allowing Dick to do ‘fatherly’ things. He allowed Dick to cut his meals for him even though Damian had probably used knives for far more advanced reasons. Allowed him to pester him about brushing his teeth even though they both knew Damian was awake and finished with his morning routine even before him. Allowed him to burden him with chores—well, on the rare occasions that Damian chose not to hurl curses at him instead.

It was all very much an act, of course. Damian knew how to fend for himself. It was about the satisfaction of giving them both the opportunities they were denied. The opportunity for Dick to play the parent and Damian to play the child. And in ways, it was obvious how false it all was—just rehashes of tropes they had learned. Pretending to act how fathers and sons were _supposed_ to act, as opposed to real experiences.

But it worked for them.

“Wait,” Dick said when Damian tried to take off again. He tugged on the edge of the sweater, zipping it up. “There.”

“Thanks, Father,” Damian said quietly. And if there was sarcasm intended, it seemed somehow lost.

It was strange how natural it sounded. _Father_.

Dick smiled fondly and patted Damian’s head. Damian allowed the action—until the creak in the floorboards announced Alfred’s approach, and then suddenly the scowl was back and the boy was running out the door.

 

He was on the brink of sleep, eyelids heavy and consciousness flitting, when he felt the bed shift ever so slightly.

Dick’s breath hitched. He forced himself to exhale—for being silent and unbreathing would only be more suspicious—and listened.

A soft sigh.

Dick’s heart was racing. He felt like he had waited too long for this moment. He knew he should have stayed as still as possible. He knew. But he opened one eye anyways.

The sleep disappeared from his body in an instant, almost urgently. Damian was rutting against the bear—but it seemed different, somehow.

It seemed desperate.

He was rocking his eyes, breaths quickened and frequent. The edge of his voice was almost an aching, longing whine. Each sound went straight to Dick’s groin.

But it bothered him also. He felt a twist inside of his chest. He felt that need to take care of, to _nurture_ , return to the forefront of his mind.

It sounded like his poor boy needed help.

Damian knew how to do everything else—except this. He was young, and even Talia, for everything she forced Damian to learn at an early age, must have had _some_ decency to let certain subjects wait until the right time of maturity. And with Bruce gone, who was going to teach Damian the secrets of manhood?

This was Dick’s job.

Right?

 _It's an excuse_ , Dick’s conscience told him.

He didn't want to _help_ Damian. He'd been hard and aching every night in the hopes that Damian would do this again so he could _get off to it_.

He'd been guilting himself in the shower, in every private moment, over this.

_Stop it, Dick._

_He's just a boy._

_He's Bruce's kid._

_You're fucking sick._

_You're a pervert_.

But whatever the reason, good or bad, the sounds etched a place in Dick’s mind. Those tiny, pitiful, hungry sounds. Damian was rubbing himself against his bear, desperate to seek some sort of friction, all while restraining himself so he wouldn’t be caught, and it was driving Dick absolutely mad.

He wanted to reach out to him.

He'd been _waiting_ to reach out for him.

So he did.

“Damian.”

Damian immediately reacted, hand grabbing Dick’s wrist. Captured in the darkness, grip locked vice tight. Damian, always on his guard, even during what should have been one of his most vulnerable moments.

“Let me help.”

Too late. Damian’s walls were up. Words rushed, far from his usual composure. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing, I just—”Dick stopped, tried not to let Damian’s guardedness get to him. It was natural for Damian to be defensive but it hurt Dick all the same. He just wanted Damian to trust him. _Maybe he shouldn't trust you_. Dick composed himself and tried again. “Let me show you how to feel good.”

Damian’s shield began to lessen. Quietly, tentatively, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

“There are other ways to relieve—”

Damian’s grip tightened. This boy could break his wrist. It was… strangely comforting to know that, in a way. “You were just pretending to be asleep.”

“You should be doing that in private anyways.”

Through dim lighting, Dick could see the glow of Damian’s eyes as they widened slightly. Dick focused on the reaction, pondered why Damian was so taken aback—if he truly didn't know, or if he did know and had done it anyways. Dick swallowed, wondering at the latter.

“I don't want you to touch me,” Damian finally said, voice sharp as always.

“Fine.” Dick’s heart skipped, chest all fluttery as he still tried to find a way to weasel himself past Damian’s defenses. _Stop it, Dick_. “I could show you.”

“You…” Damian trailed off. It wasn't often Damian was at a loss of words.

Dick didn't wait for permission. He was already aching to go. He took his hand back and rolled over, pushing the blanket off of him, the cool air touching his body. He hooked his thumbs through the waistbands of his clothes, lowering them past his hips. He didn't look up but he could feel Damian’s steady gaze and the thought of being _watched_ made Dick’s head swim.

He was already half hard. He wrapped his hand around himself, eyes nearly rolling at the touch. The relief. And it wasn’t so much his _hand_ but Damian’s eyes _watching_ him that made his cock harden.

It was disgusting how much he got off on exposing himself to this _boy_. It was filthy how much it drove him wild, made him arch off the bed and put on a show, made him exaggerate his sounds.

 _No_ , he just wanted to prove to Damian that this was normal. That this was how men pleasured themselves.

How they pleasured themselves in front of boys.

 _You're fucking sick_.

His skin was so sensitive. His whole body was worked up. It felt good to do this in a bed again, body hugged by the mattress, instead of trapped in a steamy shower. He looked back at Damian, saw his curious gaze, and it made him groan. The groan caused Damian’s eyes to snap up toward his face. He looked uncharacteristically shy. It was so cute. He was so fucking cute.

“I'll guide you through it.”

 _You fucking pervert_.

“Like this…” Damian trailed off, voice questioning. Voice so unlike him. So tentative. Tiny hands fumbling at his clothes all the while.

“Yes. Like that.”

 _Yes_.

Dick’s mind was racing. He felt impatient. Wanted to rip all of Damian’s clothes off right then and there because damn it, they had just barely started but he had waited for this for _so long_. He saw Damian’s cock for the first time and he had to clench his jaw, his eyelids fluttering. He wanted to touch his boy. Wanted to taste.

 _Don't touch him_.

This wasn’t about touching him. He was just there to show him, that was all. To show him how to pleasure himself.

A small hand reached down. Damian grabbed himself. Fuck, he looked so cute playing with himself, face all torn between obvious pleasure but the need to be composed for the sake of his pride.

Dick could feel himself swelling in his hand in response. Could feel the precum collecting on the head of his cock.

“I can't do this,” Damian said. He didn't mean it literally. He meant that he couldn't relax. Couldn't relax when Dick’s eyes were intensely focused on every action as he secretly fantasized over the best way to get Damian to let him touch him.

“Just relax. What else makes you feel good?”

Dick wanted to know. He wanted to know for himself, so he could aid Damian. So he could touch him.

Lips tightened in a fine line. Frustration. “I don't know.”

“Anything?” Dick tried and the silence worried him.

It wasn’t normal. But for Damian, who'd been conditioned to block out both emotional and physical feeling, it was part of who he was. Dick remained patient.

“There has to be something.”

“I like it when you call me boy.”

Dick stopped.

He glanced up at Damian, who seemed to have sensed his shock. Damian’s gaze lowered, seeming uncomfortable. Seeming embarrassed. Realizing that he had confessed too much. But in an effort to explain himself, he said quickly, “It's a demeaning word. But you don't say it how everyone else says it. It seems nice when you say it.”

Dick’s voice was caught in his throat. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears. And lower, down in his groin, he could feel heat.

So. It felt good for Damian too.

There was a relief there, maybe. A joy. But also terror because he only called Damian that because he was pretending.

Pretending to be Batman.

Pretending to be Damian’s father.

Pretending to be…

“What else?” Dick asked, wanting to move onto the next subject. Or maybe wanting Damian to go on.

Damian eyed Dick cautiously, as if unsure whether or not to say more. Quietly, the color in his face rising, he admitted, “I like it when you touch my hair. Or when you give me gifts. Or when you hold me.”

Dick’s jaw stiffened, chest twisting. How did he let things go this way?

It was just supposed to be playing around. A game of charades.

But in ways, the kindly, fatherly way that Dick treated Damian… was probably the only positivity that Damian experienced. Dick was likely the first to call Damian names affectionately, or buy him things that didn't relate to his worth as a person, or touch him kindly.

Given the circumstances, it was only normal that Damian would associate such things with pleasure.

“Do you like calling me ‘father’?” Dick asked, even though he was afraid of knowing the truth.

“Yes,” Damian said, the word partly lost in a sigh as Dick’s hand slid over Damian’s, pressure increasing on his cock.

Dick closed his eyes. It shouldn't have come to this. It was just pretending. But if it was what Damian needed, Dick couldn't bring himself to deny him.

Not that he wanted to anyways.

“It's okay,” he murmured. He swallowed, almost nervously because in ways, this was all new to him too. He said, “That's a good boy.”

If he was truthful, Damian’s dark secret paralleled to one of Dick’s own.

He could hear Damian’s breath hitch. It was all the encouragement Dick needed. With more confidence, he whispered, “Let go.”

Damian’s hand slowly slipped away. Dick sat up on the bed more, remembering Damian’s words. That he liked to be held. And so he pulled Damian into his body, their frames puzzling together, Damian settling in Dick’s lap. Dick’s hand reached in between Damian’s legs. Tiny, blunt fingernails dug into Dick’s thigh, trying to find purchase. Trying to trust Dick to touch him, to make him feel all the things he was raised not to feel.

Damian's cock was perfectly cupped in Dick’s hand. A shudder went through Dick’s body, he had wanted this for so long. Had dreamt of it for days. And he was nervous and terrified but also so happy, so excited. Dick shifted in place, his own cock feeling rock hard, pressed against Damian’s warm and smooth body.

“Open your legs,” Dick encouraged. Damian hesitantly spread his legs a little further, giving Dick room to stroke his member.

Damian let out a long, shuddery exhale. Struggling to relax in Dick’s arms but his instincts fighting against him. His trained discipline that prevented him from ever feeling relaxed.

It just made Dick feel all the more determined to pleasure Damian.

To prove to him that this was okay. Even though it wasn’t.

His hand pumped Damian at a leisurely pace. The other arm was wrapped around Damian’s body, pulling the boy closer to his chest. Warm bodies touching. Damian’s breathing was audible, his legs slowly easing open, both of his hands still gripping hard onto Dick’s legs.

Dick had to curve his back just to rest his head on Damian’s. But he did anyways, kissing Damian on the head. Breathing in his hair. He remembered everything Damian said about the things he liked. He remembered him talking about gifts.

“You've been such a good boy,” Dick murmured in his hair. “I think you earned a reward.”

He could feel Damian pulse in his hand and it just all felt so oddly endearing. Dick wished he could just hold onto Damian forever, this precious boy.

His free hand stroked circles on Damian’s skin before landing on his chest. Dick tensed in anticipation, afraid of how Damian might react, but he tested it anyways. He gently rubbed a thumb over Damian’s nipple.

Suddenly, a soft moan pulled from Damian’s lips. His back arched up, cock pushing deeper into Dick’s hand. Dick nearly groaned, hard cock pressed against Damian’s bottom. He wanted to go faster but he mentally talked himself down. Be patient. Be a good example.

Hold onto this moment for as long as possible. Make this special.

“Yes, that's it,” Dick murmured, words hushed. He licked his lips. “Like that, baby boy.”

He wasn’t sure where the new nickname came from. Maybe it had been sitting in the recesses of his mind. It shouldn't have felt as natural to say it as it did. He stroked Damian’s cock anyways, hand squeezing around the tip. Let Damian rock his hips into Dick’s hand once more. Fingers brushed over Damian’s nipple, teasing the spot over and over again. Damian was squirming in his lap, occasionally backing up, rear pressing against Dick’s cock.

“You're doing so good,” Dick whispered, voice husky.

He heard a light breath, followed by:

“Yes, Father.”

Dick’s erection pulsed, eyes nearly fluttering shut. God, it was sick but he was so fucking hard.

He needed to hear that again.

“Does Father's hand feel nice?”

“Yes.” Dick’s hand lightly pinched at a nipple and Damian sucked in his breath. Voice almost a whine, almost desperate: “Yes, Father.”

Damian shifted in Dick’s lap. Dick’s cock fit in the cleft of Damian’s ass. Dick groaned, feeling the heat coming off of Damian’s entrance. Feeling his own cock surrounded by Damian’s soft flesh. He instinctively bucked his hips, pushing his cock between the cheeks.

God, he wanted Damian so bad. Wanted to be inside him. Wanted to fill him up. Fill up his baby boy.

“So good, sweetheart.”

Damian’s composure began to slip away, his voice rising. Grip on Dick’s body tightening. And Dick could feel his qualms slipping away too, his desire beating out his self control. His ministrations increased, wanting to be the one to push Damian over the edge. He could feel his own breath quickening, as if trying to synchronize with Damian’s. His fingers pinched and pulled at Damian’s nipples, hang tugging at his cock, feeling the precum stain against his hands.

“Is my boy going to come?” he breathed into Damian’s hair. Damian responded with nothing more than a whine, thrusting into Dick’s hand, thin frame shaking in Dick’s embrace. Dick could barely recognize Damian, could barely recognize himself, as his voice lowered. Huskily, he said, “Come for daddy.”

And he did. Beautifully, miraculously, he did. Dick’s hand wrapped around Damian’s mouth in time, stifling the volume of his cry, his hot breath on his fingers as he voiced his orgasm. Damian filled Dick’s hand, made it hot and sticky, and it should have felt filthy and disgusting and shameful but it didn't. It was perfect. Damian was perfect.

Damian’s voice softened and Dick released him. He wrapped his arms around Damian’s body, kissing his neck. He wanted to thank him. Wanted to confess all of his affections. But he didn't, he settled for feathering him with light kisses and holding him close.

Damian’s body relaxed, save for a hand that held onto the arm that embraced him. It was a subtle, affectionate touch.

Without even thinking of the repercussions, Dick murmured:

“From now on, if you have a problem, you can come to Father.”

 

Earlier in the hour, Dick had run ahead to chase down their thief. After the police came to make their arrest, Dick went back to the area where he was forced to leave Damian behind. In the pouring rain, he searched in the alley, until he found the boy wandering around with his flashlight on, his hood guarding him from the weather.

Dick got closer, his heavy boots splashing in the puddles, but he still caught the soft mewl.

He looked over Damian's shoulder, finding the tiny drenched thing in his sidekick’s arms. Dick was filled with so much sympathy and affection all at once.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked the creature. Damian glared at him, adorably protective, as Dick reached for the kitten. But Dick didn't want to take the poor thing away, he just wanted to stroke him underneath his chin. The kitten bites but Dick hardly felt it with his glove on. “You want to take him home?”

“No,” Damian said at once. “His family should be nearby.”

Dick hummed a little to himself. The drenched kitten continued to gnaw at his finger, tiny paws curled around him. “The manor would be dryer.”

“I don't want to separate them,” Damian said insistently. “It'd be better if they were all together again.”

Dick nodded a little, eyes distant.

“You're right,” he conceded.

 

In the middle of the night, Dick felt the mattress shift. The bed hardly moved at all, didn't make a sound, but Dick's senses were always keenly aware.

“What are you doing?” he murmured against his pillow. There was a cessation in the air.

“Grayson.”

“Hm?” Dick finally peered one eye open. He caught Damian’s image, sitting on the edge of the bed. The early traces of dawn were coming through the crack of the window curtains. In the dim light, he could catch the glow in Damian’s feline-like eyes. They watched Dick closely, almost cautiously.

“I'm bleeding.”

At that, Dick felt a little more alert. He remembered a tear in a red vest from the last patrol—a long, shallow cut that wrapped around Damian’s back to his side. Dick reached to pull up the hem of Damian’s shirt but Damian recoiled. Dick sighed heavily.

“I can't help you if you don't let me see.”

“Its nothing bad. It just reopened a little.”

“This is why you shouldn't scratch your cuts.”

“I don't.”

“I catch you picking your scabs all the time. You just think I don't notice.” Still, Damian's hands were curled around the hem. Dick said, “There are bandages in the bathroom. Right drawer by the sink.”

“Right,” Damian said. His head hung a little and quietly, almost shyly if Dick didn't know any better, he said, “My shirt.”

Dick knew Damian would never _ask_. He replied simply, “I'll find you something.”

Damian seemed satisfied by this answer. He picked himself off of the bed and moved toward the connected bathroom, moving in the darkness familiarly enough. Dick had to remind him to turn on the light. He followed the command and Dick winced as the glow hit his eyes. Groggy, he moved toward the armoire, pulling out a shirt and moving towards the bathroom to pass it on.

In the doorway, he caught a glimpse of skin. Damian, seeing part of Dick’s image in the mirror, immediately pulled his shirt back down.

“ _Don't_ ,” Damian said to him sharply, ears flushed.

Dick hardly understood why it mattered, when he had already seen the most intimate part of Damian’s body, but he clapped his hand over his eyes as he handed over the shirt. When he felt Damian snatch the garment from his hand, he took it as his cue to return to bed.

Damian returned a few moments later, his ruined clothing folded neatly and tucked in his arms. Dick couldn't help but watch him closely—to his astonishment, not only did Damian replace his shirt, but he also removed his pants. Dick’s long shirt still covered up tiny Damian rather modestly, the hem almost reaching his knees, but Dick still found himself staring at Damian’s exposed calves.

Damian placed the clothing on the end table and climbed up into bed. Dick averted his eyes when Damian turned toward him, realizing only at that moment he had been taking liberties in looking. His mouth felt dry. But Damian didn't appear to notice, asking Dick to turn off the light.

“Can I see?”

Damian’s guard returned. “See what?”

“Your cut.”

“I already bandaged it.”

“I just want to get an idea of the size,” he said. He spoke out of genuine concern. Damian seemed almost annoyed by the request.

“It’s nothing.” His voice was sharp.

“I'm just worried.”

Damian turned silent. There was something in his gaze—a wanting, but his mouth stayed shut. He looked at Dick almost expectantly. Guessing, Dick decided that maybe Damian truly wasn't concerned about the cut, but maybe he would like the attention. Dick straightened himself up, sitting with his back leaned against the headboard. He patted his lap.

“Come on,” he said firmly.

At this, some of Damian’s desire seemed to waver. He eyed Dick cautiously. Hesitating. Dick insisted, leaning over to scoop Damian up.

Sometimes he forgot how light Damian was. The young warrior fit perfectly in his arms. Damian tensed but did not object, letting Dick plop him down in his lap. Damian did squirm once, just to turn on his side and get comfortable, and Dick tensed in place as Damian’s rear nearly pushed against his groin, but the boy finally relaxed. Head finally settling against Dick’s chest, one tiny hand trapped between them.

Dick placed his hands wherever it felt natural—one on Damian’s bicep, to hold him in close, the other where his hand fell naturally. On Damian’s knee.

Damian murmured, his breath hot against Dick’s chest, “This is just coddling.”

“I think it's natural to want to take care of you after you've been hurt.”

“Again, _coddling_ ,” Damian said, scoffing lightly. “It's just a scratch.”

“My boy did such a good job today,” Dick tried gently. Damian was noticeably silent, his hand on Dick’s chest fidgeting.

Damian could handle a cut. The same way Dick could handle a cut at his age. But it still felt like the only bright side to getting hurt was hearing Bruce’s words of praise for his courage and strength, and thanking him for his sacrifice.

But Bruce couldn't be here to give Damian those words. To let him know that an injury wasn't equivalent to failure.

Dick felt something against his hand, warm and velvety. He glanced down, seeing where his comparably massive hand covered Damian’s knee. His eyes followed the toned, brown calves leading into smooth thighs.

Dick rubbed his thumb over Damian’s knee idly. Eyes entranced by the peek of skin underneath the hem of his shirt that was riding up Damian’s leg.

Dick was so dazed he didn't even realize the room was silent until Damian spoke up, his voice quiet. Almost tentative.

“Perhaps Father could give me a reward.”

Dick’s hand stopped.

He blinked, chewing on his bottom lip without meaning to. He looked down at the head resting against his chest and wondered if Damian could hear his racing heartbeat.

“What would you like?” Dick whispered into dark hair.

Damian’s hand pulled on Dick’s shirt. Dick could feel the fabric tug and twist.

“Another gift?” Dick asked.

“No,” Damian said, sounding a little more certain this time. Catching his tone, Damian added calmly, “Nothing like that.”

Dick’s fingers dared to dance a little higher up the hem. He could feel Damian shiver in his embrace as the hand rubbed over the skin, fingertips just barely brushing against the curve of his ass before retreating back down his thigh.

“How am I supposed to know what you want if you don't tell me? Don't be shy.”

Damian's grip on his shirt tightened. He was insulted—but being put on the spot also embarrassed him. But Dick wanted to push him out of that. He wanted Damian to tell him everything.

Forcefully bold, Damian said, “I want you to touch me.”

Dick’s cock was pulsing now.

“Whatever you want,” Dick said. He slowly peeled back the hem of the shirt. Damian shifted in place when the hand slipped past his underwear. It was a tight squeeze under the constraints of the fabric but Dick managed to fit his hand inside. Damian shuddered against him as Dick massaged his cock. Dick was unable to resist teasing him. “You're hard already. You've been waiting for Father to reward you for some time now.”

Damian pulled on Dick’s shirt. He didn't bite back, though his hand clenched into a fist.

Dick eased Damian’s underwear down his legs. Damian’s breath hitched but he didn't argue. The bed groaned as Dick repositioned Damian onto the mattress. Damian laid on his back, looking at Dick curiously.

His boy did deserve a reward.

Dick buried his face between Damian’s legs. Kissing the inner thighs, feeling Damian quiver at the touch. Higher and higher. Lips dragging against Damian’s flesh, up the underside of his hard cock. The boy tensed in response, but he didn't push him away.

In fact, his body slowly began to ease into the mattress. Legs spreading apart.

Dick mouthed at Damian’s cock, feeling the smooth flesh against his lips. Warm and smooth and hard for him. Dick ran the flat of his tongue over the head and Damian’s entire body reacted. Dick did it again and hands reached into his hair.

There was a subtle hitch in Damian’s breath as Dick wrapped his lips around Damian’s cock. Damian’s hands were everywhere—on Dick, on the mattress, on his own tummy. Unsure of how to react to the new sensation of Dick’s hot and wet mouth sucking him.

He was shuddering and shaking, his voice light gasps. Dick held onto Damian’s hips, pinning him to the mattress to better control his pace. Bobbing his head up and down, lips wrapped firmly around the boy’s member.

Damian’s breathing was short now. He was having a hard time staying composed. His body tensed up, knees coming together. Dick forcefully spread Damian’s thighs apart, keeping them open. Damian caught the hint, hands settling on Dick’s head instead, tiny fingers tangling in his hair.

Shudders more frequent. Burying himself deeper and deeper into Dick’s mouth. Soft cries escaping from his closed lips, sounding like whimpers.

Dick was hard. Has been hard. He couldn't hold off. He reached between his legs, fondling himself through his sleeping shorts, Damian’s sounds fuelling his arousal.

Damian’s moans were muffled behind his closed mouth. But Dick could recognize the pitch. Could recognize the way he arched off the bed. He touched himself and let Damian control the pace, hands holding his head and thrusting into his mouth.

Thrusting and thrusting until, with a whimper, he came. Hot, thick seed landed on Dick’s tongue. He let Damian ride out his orgasm. Waited until he collapsed into the mattress completely, catching his breath, before spitting into the corner of a sheet.

Dick got up on his knees, rubbing his cock. He was so hard it hurt, his eyes fluttering with the touch.

Damian, hair mussed and face flushed, watched him closely.

“D—”he started, but stopped. Mouth clamping shut.

“What's wrong?” Dick whispered.

Damian seemed hesitant. “Let me help you.”

Dick grit his teeth, cock swelling at the thought. All of his sick, perverted fantasies coming back to haunt him. He covered Damian's body with his own, the boy catching the hint and wrapping his arms around him. Dick kissed the light sweat on his hairline.

“You don't have to do anything,” Dick murmured against his skin. “Seeing my boy come was good enough for me.”

Damian’s hands seemed to dig into Dick’s back.

With some force, he said, “Stop coddling me.”

Dick’s heart skipped.

Head hazy, he tried to think of something. Something simple, nothing extreme.

Damian was pliable underneath Dick’s hands, letting him reposition him on the mattress. Onto his side, legs squeezed together. Damian’s cheeks darkened, strangely bashful, as Dick lowered his clothing and exposed his erection.

“Just lay here, okay? Just like this. Can you do that?”

Of course he could. He was a good boy. “Yes, Father.”

Just like that, Dick was pushing himself between Damian’s soft thighs. His eyes closed for a moment, savoring the feeling of Damian’s perfect skin against his cock. The warmth of his thighs pushed together. Dick’s eyes reopened and he groaned.

It was perverse how large his cock looked pitted against Damian’s tiny body. It was sickening how much it turned him on.

He put a hand on Damian’s knee, the weight pushing his thighs together, making the space tighter. Dick groaned from deep inside his throat, moving his hips. Fucking Damian’s thighs.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Dick said. His whole body was hot. His head fuzzy. He thrusted faster, his cock bumping up against the underside of Damian’s cock. Damian flinched. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No. It feels good.” A short breath. “Daddy.”

A rush of heat ran through Dick’s body, a groan pulled from his lips. His mind spun, wondering at the affectionate name, a far leap from ‘Father’—but he didn't care enough. It turned him on and that was all that mattered in that moment. “Again,” he gasped.

Damian eyed him with tentative curiosity. As if testing out the word, Damian said quietly, “Daddy.”

Fuck.

“Damian, I'm just going to—”he tried to say calmly, but his common sense was fucked. He pulled up Damian’s shirt, wanting to see his beautiful skin. He ignored the bandage on his back, pulling the shirt above his head. Damian’s arms were left tangled in the fabric, but Dick couldn't bring himself to pull it all the way off. He had to touch himself.

His hand could work faster than Damian's thighs. His hand could stroke him hard and tight and fast. He kissed Damian’s exposed chest, mouth wrapping around a nipple. Damian, sensitive from his orgasm, didn't bite back his moan. The sound was all Dick needed.

He pulled back, watched as he stroked himself to completion. Tremors running down his body, pleasure racing down his spine as he came. The thick spurts landed on Damian’s hips. Dirtying him. The thick seed dripping over the contours of his ass and thigh.

Dick caught himself from collapsing on top of Damian. He couldn't remember the last time his orgasm was so intense. His whole body felt weak. He caught Damian’s reddened face—the boy looked down at where Dick marked him, seeing almost humiliated. Dick quickly grabbed the sheet to clean him off.

“I'm sorry, Damian. I went overboard,” Dick said. The same familiar guilt began to rise up inside of him. How could he do this to him? To a boy?

Damian eyed him for a long moment. “It's fine. But finishing on me…” He trailed off, grimacing.

Dick’s orgasm still lingered on his nerves, his body sensitive and blissful. It was awful but... he didn't regret coming on Damian. A vulgar, crueler part of him, relished at the idea of making the neat and organized boy extra prudish about his appearance.

“I'm sorry, I sort of lost control,” Dick said, at least pretending to be shamed.

Damian shrugged the shirt back down to make himself somewhat decent again. Dick finally laid back down, body still sensitive.

Damian eyed him intensely for a moment before scooting closer, enough to make Dick wrap his arms around him and sweep him into a hug. As Dick buried his face in the crook of Damian’s neck, a whisper touched his ear:

“I think I liked seeing daddy lose control.”

 

They weren't in disguise. It was easier for Dick to attend the gala dressed as Bruce Wayne’s ward.

When getting dressed, Dick had expected Damian to emerge as a miniature Bruce Wayne. Damian’s eyes often shifted back and forth between looking like his father’s and looking like his mother’s. That night, his eye color was somewhere in-between. Something uniquely Damian.

But Dick never thought he and Damian were similar in appearance. They both had dark hair, light eyes, and their complexions could get close depending on the season and the lighting—but their faces were far too different. Even so, as their hostess seated them at their assigned table, she smiled and said, “Your son’s very cute.”

The other seats at the table were never filled. Only socialites could find an excuse to be too busy to skip out on a party with free champagne and ice sculptures.

Somewhere between the fish course and entrée, Dick leaned over the table and said with a smile, “It's like Bruce and I, when we went to galas.”

“A gala or a date?” Damian said, glancing at the empty seats. It was just them.

It was a joke, spoken in one Damian’s wryer tones. But the light from the candlestick highlighted the warm tones on Damian’s skin. Made his eyes glow. And there was something familiar in that image, that made Dick recall nights with a glowing bedside lamp.

Suddenly, Dick felt very confused, trying to figure out who was right: him or Damian.

 

“What are you doing in here?!”

The shouting was uncharacteristic. It threw Dick offguard and he didn't dodge the shampoo bottle in time. The tiny, half empty bottle struck him in the middle of the chest and bounced off.

Dick exaggeratedly placed his hand in front of his eyes.

“I'm just here to grab my toothbrush, since Your Highness decided to hog _my_ bathroom.”

Through the cracks between his fingers, Dick snuck a peek at the boy, who was all hunched shoulders, sinking into the tub as deep as he could without submerging his nose. Dick never took baths but the massive tub seemed… inviting.

When Dick slowly removed the hand, Damian’s head instantly popped back up.

“Stop looking!” he demanded, one hand grasping along the edge of the tub, trying to find another object to sling.

The bathroom was connected to the bedroom but Dick shut the door anyways. He crossed the room, peeling off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I was going to shower after you were done but a bath seems nicer.” He started tugging at his belt. He caught Damian’s half mortified, half bashful expression. Dick would never say it—it was still too forbidden—but he was tempted to remind Damian that they had seen each other naked a few times already. “I'm just going to join you.”

“I'm _bathing_. Spare the torment and _leave me_ _alone_.”

“You can still wash yourself. There's more than enough room in this thing. I'll even look away, if you care that much,” Dick said, shrugging, and Damian practically dunked himself underwater when Dick’s pants and underwear fell to the ground. Damian only lifted his head to glare at Dick judgmentally when he clumsily climbed into the tub, the water rising up and splashing everywhere.

The hot water felt as nice as it looked. Dick sighed, feeling his sore muscles begin to relax, the steam caressing his face. He sunk himself deeper into the water, body melting, arms wrapped around the edge of the tub and the tips of his hair dipping into the water.

It wasn't until Dick’s knees eased apart that Damian reached for the towel sitting in the basket near the tub.

“Fine, you _win_ , I'm getting out—”he said hurriedly, a furious blush on his face. At that Dick picked up his head, more alert.

“Why? Stay in here.”

“Why would I stay? I'm trying to bathe and you want to play games.”

Games? “People bathe together all the time. I can wash your back, if you want.”

Dick grabbed the bath sponge sitting on the ledge, as if to prove his point. Damian glared and turned a shoulder to him—but not in a way that was an invitation to be washed. Dick blinked.

“Why are you so upset?” A sudden thought struck him. A smile crept onto his face. “Are you shy?”

Damian was unamused. Dick paused, seeing the layer of unease in the boy’s eyes.

“It's because I don't know what you want.”

“What I want?” Dick repeated. When Damian was silent, Dick’s face slowly fell, worry replacing his amusement. He reached across the tub, lightly shaking Damian’s shoulder. Kept his voice gentle. “What do you mean by that?”

“Is this even normal?” Damian said quietly.

At that, Dick froze.

A sinking fear entered his gut. He felt strangely exposed—like he had been caught laying out a trap.

“No,” Dick said honestly. Following the fear was guilt. He could understand why Damian was uncomfortable—in Dick’s selfishness, he had made this relationship anything _but_ normal. Dick’s hand slipped away from the shoulder. He found himself leaning away. “I always thought—I mean, I _hoped_ that you wanted me to be like… like—”

Dick struggled for the words, realizing that he had nothing.

Nothing to describe _this_.

“Like a father,” Damian finished for him. He leaned forward, resting his chin on knees. Dick’s eyes followed the curve of Damian’s spine. Gazed at the water-kissed hair and lashes. Dick felt filled with this need to hold him close, but suddenly felt terrified to touch him for the first time in weeks. But wasn't that how he was _supposed_ to be feel? He had gotten too comfortable in his lie. In playing pretend, acting like all of this was okay. Heading tilting forward on his knees, murmuring against his skin, Damian confessed, “But I don't think of you as a father. I mean, I don't think I do.”

“I see,” Dick said, ignoring the pang in his chest. It was really pitiful, wishful thinking that made him think he could take on such a role in the first place.

Damian turned in the water, facing Dick. But his eyes still travelled, never looking Dick in the eye for too long. Almost nervously.

“I just don't know what's it like. What to compare it to. I don't feel like I ever knew Father. I don't remember his voice.”

Dick sunk ever so slightly in the water. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I wish you did know him. I wish I could have been that person for you. I _wanted_ to be. And then I… I guess I don't know what I really wanted.” Dick felt so sorry that he had nearly forgotten they were sitting in a bathtub. It should've been silly, really, but Dick couldn't find himself to laugh.

It wasn't just the pretending that Dick was sorry about.

Nothing he could have done would have been able to replace Bruce, no. But he could’ve been a good mentor still, if he had just tried to be more like himself.

As for the other stuff—the way he had perverted their relationship—

“There's no point in apologizing,” Damian said, in a commanding tone that was more familiar. Dick stopped and looked at him. Despite the confidence in the boy’s voice, his gaze was notably averted. His hands were capped tightly over his small knees, gripping. “Pretending isn't always so bad.”

The room went quiet, without even so much as a drip from the faucet to interrupt the silence. Dick brewed in his thoughts, pondering over Damian’s words.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. Yet, Dick lamented that he couldn't go back and fix this mess he had made.

“Father?” Damian said suddenly, voice soft.

The word had never felt so bittersweet.

“Yes?” Dick managed.

“Do you still want to wash my back?”

“Of course.”

Damian could wash it on his own. He probably even preferred to. The same way he could already do everything on his own, like zip his coat and take care of his wounds. It was sort of sad that it had come to this—Damian trying to comfort Dick, instead of the other way around. But the care and trust it took to do that made Dick feel a little better.

Dick would always love this boy, regardless of anything. But it was in the rare little displays of patience and _closeness_ that made Damian a person who was extra special to Dick’s heart.

The bath made a small sound, the surface of the water disturbed as Damian turned around. Dick measured out the span of Damian’s shoulders. Watched closely at the beads of water gathered at the edges of his hair, dripping onto his back. Crawling down his neck.

Dick wasn’t aware of the heat of the steam until that moment. He breathed in, feeling it warm him from the inside out.

He slid across the bottom of the tub, closer to Damian. Close enough that he could just barely catch the fragrance of his washed hair. Dick took the overripe sponge and felt the water and suds drip down his his wrist, down his arm.

He could see a few faint pink lines on Damian’s body. Old scars, though the one on his side was newer. Dick had been there for that scar. Dick stared at each and every one of them for a moment, wondering if he looked the same when he was Damian’s age, but then realized it was impossible. Damian was less than half Dick’s age but he had scars that could be older than Dick’s.

He wiped at Damian’s skin. The water dripping down over the contours of his body, the scars still there. Unerased.

“Do you want to start over?”

“Hm?” Damian said. When Dick faltered to respond, Damian pushed. “What are you talking about?”

The surface of the water was soft foam. It clung to Dick’s skin as he leaned forward, sponge finding its way to Damian’s chest. Damian stilled beneath him. Dick could hear his calm, even breaths. Felt their bodies, wet and warm, stick to each other. Clinging. He could feel the boy watching him from the corner of his eye.

Dick wasn't sure how to form his thoughts into words. Wasn't sure how to explain to Damian that he could set aside Bruce and Talia, just enough for Dick to try to be a real father to him. Or they could forget all of this and try for something, anything, resembling _normal_.

As if reading his mind, Damian said, “We can't start over.”

Right.

Even at Dick’s suggestion to forget their past, he still couldn't help but think about the softness of Damian’s skin. The smoothness. The sponge moved across the boy’s body, down the center of his chest, water dripping—and Dick wished it was his hand instead. His hand, not as the sponge, but as the water—everywhere at once, hugging every contour, with the ability to make Damian more beautiful by complementing his skin. He watched the water run down Damian’s hair and back and it stirred something inside of him.

As much as he wanted to make things normal, he couldn't stop the fiendish thoughts that ran through him.

He wanted to smell Damian. He wanted to taste him. He wanted to feel him. He wanted to take comfort in holding Damian and having Damian hold him in return.

Dick stared, fixated by the beads of water between Damian’s shoulder blades. He was supposed to wash him. That's it. But his hands paused.

He couldn't even do this one simple task. He couldn't simply take care of Damian and be content. He would always want _more_.

Just one simple task.

Why couldn't he do this?

His head fell forward, resting against Damian’s. Damian’s hair, heavy with water, brushed against Dick’s cheek. Dick breathed in the smell of shampoo. He closed his eyes, trying to push back his temptations. As if closing his eyes would change something—as if he wasn't breathing in the sweetest thing in the whole world, and his lips weren't close enough to kiss.

“I like this,” Damian said. Damian didn't like anything.

Dick didn't respond. Listening.

“All of this.”

Dick finally opened his eyes, gaze travelling upward. Stared blankly at the collection of moisture on the tiled walls.

“Can I get the rest of you?” he asked. And there was no need for elaboration. Damian’s body slunk towards the end of the tub.

He got on his knees, his body lifting out of the water. Dick noticed the shiver as he leaned his body against the tiled wall. The raised flesh along his shoulders and upper arms. Arms that seemed miraculously strong, no matter how many times Dick saw them. Dick’s eyes travelled along the rivulets running down Damian’s back—watched hungrily as the water travelled down his body. Dripping further yet, down over the curve of his ass, between his thighs.

He leaned in, at first kissing the boy between his shoulder blades. His chest touched Damian’s back, skin sliding against his. Dick breathed in the fragrant skin. Beads of water greeted his lips. And it was so perfect but Dick was greedy, so he did it again. And again.

Damian trembled underneath the kisses. Dick’s hands wrapped around his waist, holding him there. His lips and tongue tasted the water on his spine. A gentle hand pushed down on Damian’s upper back. Damian complied, folding in half, hips raised.

Dick abandoned the sponge on the ledge.

Dick’s hand snaked between Damian’s thighs, and Damian quivered as he spread them without even being told. _Good boy_. Dick’s hand wrapped around Damian’s cock. Still wet from the bath. Flushed from both arousal and the steam. Already hard.

He leaned in, teeth grazing against Damian’s ass. Damian’s breath hitched and he moved almost uncertainly, the bathwater protesting with a light sound. Foam stuck to the edges of the white porcelain before dragging back down to the surface. Dick didn't pull away. He kissed and licked Damian’s flesh, his face eventually burying its way between Damian’s cheeks, his tongue finding his entrance.

Damian was breathing harder now, each sound shuddering off his lips. The flat of Dick’s tongue pressed against the opening. Over and over. Hand not stroking as much as _massaging_ Damian’s cock. Damian rocked back and forth on his knees, cock rubbing against Dick’s palm. The water swaying with him.

Dick’s tongue pressed inside of Damian. He could hear Damian bite back his groan. It encouraged Dick more—he closed his mouth over Damian’s entrance, moved his tongue. Sucked and licked and pushed. Dick closed his eyes, trying to envision Damian’s face. Most likely flushed red with embarrassment from these new sensations. Just the thought of it made his cock throb.

He wanted to fuck Damian so bad.

And he was sick of pretending that he hadn't wanted it for weeks now.

He wanted to be inside of him. Damn near needed it.

His fingers traced their way to Damian’s entrance, stroking over the passage once, before slipping a finger inside. Dick and Damian had gotten this far before. Dick loved fingering Damian, loved feeling how tight he was and imagining his cock was there instead, as much as he shamed himself for the thought. He was genuinely afraid of hurting Damian—so afraid that his nerves would swell inside his chest, consuming him whole. So he never allowed himself to go too far.

But laced with that fear was desire. Whenever he got rock hard thinking about fucking Damian’s ass, he often wished he _hadn't_ cared. That he had the guts—or perhaps the malice—to just take what he wanted, no matter how cruel it was.

Now, the finger slipped in almost easily. He could feel Damian’s erection pulsing in his hand. Dick continued to palm over Damian’s cock—gentle, well-paced. Nothing frantic or rushed. His fingering matched the pace of his hand. In and out. In and out.

He leaned in, kissing a cheek. Then his tongue ran alongside Damian’s rim, pressed closely to his finger. Dick was getting excited, subtle sounds of desire following the hot breaths that brushed against Damian’s entrance.

Damian was shaking. From the cold air meeting his flushed body or from the sensations, Dick wasn't sure. Damian had goosebumps around his shoulders. Dick curled his finger and Damian made a soft sound, and the two of them had been so quiet up until that point that the sound felt almost amplified.

Dick was so turned on. He wanted to fuck Damian then and there. Wanted to listen to the frantic beating of the water as he thrusted in and out of Damian’s perfect ass. Wanted it so badly that when he pulled back for a moment, he couldn't take his eyes off Damian’s hole, watching as his finger disappeared deep inside, and he moaned almost longingly at the sight.

He leaned back in, tongue catching around Damian’s rim, alongside the finger still stuffed in him. Damian’s hands clenched into fists, resting on the side of the tub. Dick slipped in a second finger. Watched with perverse interest as the hole swallowed him in.

He wanted that to be his cock so bad.

He licked and fingered and stroked and Damian was moaning now. His voice so soft and sweet that it drove Dick mad.

His cock was hard. So hard. He wanted to fuck something.

And Damian liked it too. Dick knew he did because he knew, deep down, that Damian was on the same fucked-up level as him. He could feel it in the desperation of his voice, the rocking of his hips trying to urge Dick’s hands to thrust and stroke.

He kissed and nipped at Damian’s ass. Breathed hard as he whispered against the boy’s flesh, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

_Tell me you want me to fill your ass._

His fingers pushed in deeper, faster. Damian’s head tilted back, sighing into the steam. In this motion, his body becomes this beautiful arc, chest pushed forward, his nipples hard. The water was sloshing back and forth under their movements, threatening to spill. Dick’s digits continued to massage inside of Damian, stretching him out. Getting him ready, because he was going to take it. Fuck all common sense and ethics, Damian was going to _take it_.

Dick’s hand twisted over Damian’s cock.

“Come on, baby.”

_Tell me you want me to fuck you._

Dick’s fingers were stuffed inside. But Damian was loosening, barely. He was able to accommodate the fingers comfortably. But Dick scissored and curled his fingers, wanting Damian to open up even more. Open up for him.

“You're doing so good. You're such a good boy.”

_Tell me you want me to breed you._

Damian was leaking onto his palm. He liked this. He was moaning and he liked this.

_Tell me you want me._

The water splashed up onto the tiles as Damian pushed back, Dick’s fingers going in particularly deep. Damian cried into the tiled wall, and Dick gritted his teeth. Held back a curse.

His restraint hadn't snapped. Not at that moment.

He had lost that months ago.

Dick turned Damian around. Kissed him hard on the mouth.

It was too late to go back.

They were way past the point of pretending this was normal.

And honestly, there was no point in dancing around the truth any longer.

 

Dick never thought they'd get to this point.

Not necessarily Damian holding himself open, fingers sinking into the rounded flesh of his ass—although that was unexpected too—but rather, the look in Damian’s eyes as he did so.

There was a layer of trust there.

They were on the bed. The pillowcase slightly dampened by Damian’s hair. Dick was kneeling on the mattress, stroking himself as he eyed Damian’s entrance. When he looked at the size of his cock in comparison, it seemed impossible that it'd fit. But he used his tongue and fingers good and plenty, and Dick wanted to believe their preparations were enough.

“Come on,” he whispered. His cock was fully erect. He wanted to fuck something. He wanted to fuck his baby boy. And Damian—the way his legs were perfectly spread, the anticipation in the way he licked his lips, the desire in his gaze… Dick’s whole mind swam in its greed. Damian was being so good for him but it only made Dick want more. His lust added strength to his voice: “Use your words. Tell daddy what you want.”

“You,” Damian said, sounding almost breathless.

And it looked impossible, especially when his erection lined along the crease. But Damian did want him, because he was a good boy, from the moment he let Daddy shove his fingers inside him and spread him further than he'd ever been stretched.

They had tried this before. _Tried_. But Dick had never felt so sure of it. Tonight, he was going to get inside of Damian. Tonight, he was going to fuck him and fuck him good. He was sure of it.

He wasn’t going to hold back any longer.

He took his place between Damian’s spread legs. He poised the head of his cock against Damian's entrance.

And then he pushed.

Damian’s eyes clenched shut. Dick doubted himself for a second—it was impossible, _impossible_ —but then he felt warmth surrounding the tip of his cock, and he knew. He was inside. He was inside.

Dick held his breath. But he didn't stop. He pushed in a little further. An inch further and Damian inhaled sharply, his stomach sucking in.

Dick was rushing this.

He was going too fast.

He should have spent more time preparing him.

He shouldn't have been doing this at all.

But he kept pushing.

“Relax, just relax,” he said, his voice almost lyrical in its suggestion, words slowed down as he tried to ease Damian, but the truth was that Dick’s heart was racing and his palms were sweaty and he was so close to being inside of Damian that his mind had gone blank.

It worked. The tip pushed further and he was a few inches deep. Dick was speechless, eyes rolling. Fuck, fuck. Damian was tight. Dick had never felt anyone so tight. This boy was squeezing his cock, so tight.

 _Not tight_ , a dark voice corrected him. _Small. He's small_.

But Dick was hardly listening. Hardly acknowledged the way Damian’s body was completed shadowed by his own. Ignored how far Damian’s thighs had to spread in order to accommodate him, and instead took enjoyment in the fact that they _could_. Dick’s already thin composure was starting to fumble. He wanted to keep pushing. Wanted to fill Damian up, _now_. Wanted to fuck his baby’s ass.

“You feel so good, Damian. Let me just—”Dick stammered, pushing his cock in.

Damian clenched up. His head rolled to the side, expression tightening. Dick saw small hands wrenched in the sheets, shaking. He was in pain, of course he was in pain. He was too small. He was not ready.

But Damian was vice tight around his cock and the way his hole tightened up really got Dick going. Dick had wanted him for so long and they had already come so far and he wanted to go, go, go.

Damian could take it. Of course he could take it. He had handled worse with ease.

Dick was not stopping. He grabbed Damian’s hips, forcefully sliding him further down his length. And god, the fucking way his hands just seemed to completely wrap around Damian’s waist…

He heard Damian groan but it didn't sound like a _no_.

“You're doing so good, baby boy,” Dick said hurriedly, drunk with lust. He didn't even know what he was saying. He was just mumbling things as he pushed further in, watching as inch by inch of his thick cock stretched Damian’s hole, carving its way in. Damian was going to feel him for days. Dick wanted him to. “I’m halfway in, you're doing so good. Keep yourself open.”

He heard a muffled moan, followed by a sharp gasp as Dick thrusted himself a little further in.

Damian could take it.

Damian turned his head, trying to look at where their bodies met. Dick caught a glimpse of the boy’s face, felt heat rush into his groin in response. Damian’s face was darkened, the corners of his eyes wet. Damian rested his head back on his pillow. Dick watched, fixated, as tiny teeth bit into the case. “ _Father_ —”

Fuck.

Dick pushed in the rest of the way, balls pressing against Damian’s flesh. His entire cock was surrounded by tight, rough heat. Dick closed his eyes, a shiver running down his body. He almost came right then and there.

“Daddy.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He didn't want to thrust. He wanted to keep still. Give Damian time to adjust to his size. Didn't want to come yet. But Damian’s sounds were so sweet and tempting. His words hitting Dick in all the right spots.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

The pet name made Damian seem to grow impossibly redder. Dick nearly laughed, despite it all—of all the things to be bashful about… Still, Damian managed to say, “It’s big.” His eyelids seemed to flutter, pupils dilated. “You're so big, daddy.”

He wasn't trying to turn Dick on. He barely even knew the meaning behind his words. But it worked anyways. Dick could feel his cock throbbing inside the tight walls.

Dick stroked Damian’s face, knuckles tracing along his cheek.

“I'm so proud of you, boy.”

Damian continued to take deep breaths, his ribcage contracting and expanding. Eyes almost mellow, he murmured, “You can move.”

It was amazing how easily Damian could snare him in. Dick took care of Damian, even knowing how strong and independant he was, simply because he'd do anything to make his boy pleased. Damian could ask him to do the impossible and Dick would try anyways, if it made him happy.

He started to move. Damian made a small sound, damn near a _whimper_.

Dick was already sweating. Damian was just so damn tight around him. Grabbing onto him, swallowing him in. It felt so good. Dick could come just like that, it felt that fucking good.

But Dick didn't want that. He was greedy and lusty and he wanted to give his boy a proper fucking.

So he rocked into Damian—tentatively at first. Testing the boy’s reaction. Then confidently. His hips rolling into the familiar motion. The slide of his cock delving deep inside the tight passage. Another thrust. A little deeper now. A little easier. The lube guided him, making a perverse wet sound. So slick and tight and warm.

And Dick was filled with amazement as they started to fuck. He stared at where their bodies met, following the proper motions. It should have been impossible—Damian’s small body, stretched so wide around his cock. But Damian always went above and beyond for him. And Dick was genuinely proud. His boy was so good for him. So generous to allow Dick to do this. To let this man fulfil his perverse desire.

Damian’s face was so red. It turned Dick on. Damian was so small that it was difficult to bend down to kiss him—but Dick did so anyways. He kissed his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He groaned deep, lips brushing against Damian’s hot skin.

“You're being such a good boy. So tight for me. You're making your daddy feel so good.”

And his praises felt almost more for his own pleasure than for Damian’s—the heated words seemed to drive his hips forward, again and again and again. He could hear it, the steady rhythm of their fucking, his balls against Damian’s ass, the timed whimpers and moans and sighs.

But it was for Damian too. Damian breathed, his pink lips seeming to mouth words that didn't quite have the confidence to crawl out. But Dick could see his intent in the furrow of his brow, the dreaminess of his eyes—he wanted more.

Dick readjusted their positions, pulling Damian’s hips off the bed. Holding his boy in place as he fucked him—faster now, but not fast. Damian was stretched and open and wet and Dick slid right in, like it was where his cock was meant to be. It felt so easy to fuck Damian that Dick couldn't believe he ever thought it was impossible. Damian was _built_ for him.

And more amazing still, Damian’s hips were driving up to meet his. Hands planted into the mattress, hips moving up and up and up. And Dick groaned deeply, deep inside his chest until it grumbled down into a timbre that made Dick instantly think—somehow, in the chaos of moving body parts— _Batman_.

Dick needed more.

He pulled out. Damian didn't say anything, his body falling back to the mattress, but his gaze followed Dick closely. Watching him grow further away with a look of near disappointment.

There was something about that look that nearly disturbed Dick. That look of how Dick had possibly tamed this boy to crave something he shouldn't.

Nearly.

He kissed Damian. Affectionately. Passionately. Lovingly. He tasted soft skin and warm lips. Felt a velvet tongue greet his. His cock throbbed with the desire to reenter.

“Can you turn around for me?” Dick asked. And though there was a wariness in Damian’s gaze, the boy complied. He flipped onto his stomach. Dick stroked himself as his gaze followed along the curve of Damian’s spine to the dimples of Venus. Beautiful. So beautiful.

He maneuvered Damian onto his knees. His ass naturally arched into the air and Dick groaned. Unable to resist, he stroked his cock with one hand while the other traced over Damian’s pink hole. The boy flinched, body responding to the touch.

His fingers slipped in so easily now. The boy had been stretched out so good by his cock. His fingers worked fast and loose, shoving and thrusting, until Damian’s hips began to tremble.

“You need more?” Dick asked, like this was for Damian’s benefit and not his.

Damian’s head hung forward. Dick could _feel_ the heat just in seeing the color that rose to the boy’s face.

Like a good boy, Damian answered, “Yes.”

The way his voice shuddered, like he had lost all composure, made Dick feel suddenly weak.

“Again,” Dick asked.

Better yet, Damian gave him what he really wanted to hear:

“Yes, daddy.”

Dick held Damian’s hips with both hands and began to push inside. He slipped inside so easily that it was like coming home. Damian’s body was warm and inviting, and he gave the sweetest, softest sigh.

Dick’s initial adrenaline had slowed down into a buzz. He felt no need to rush, unlike moments before. As he moved inside of Damian, he savored the feeling of his cock moving in and out. In and out. Watching closely as his cock disappeared inside of his boy.

His hand reached for Damian’s hair. His hair was nearly dry now. Dick’s fingers trailed downwards, to the nape, stroking the skin there. Damian made a soft sound, his body stilling—before shuddering all at once.

“Do you like that?” Dick asked. As if he hadn't already known.

He didn't even wait for a response, his hands trailed down over Damian’s body, feeling his soft, smooth skin.

“You're so beautiful, Damian. My beautiful boy.”

Damian didn't say anything to that. He was trembling.

Dick rocked into him. His hands roamed everywhere. Down Damian’s sides. Over his ass. They rubbed and stroked. He touched Damian’s chest, pinched and teased his nipples.

At that, Damian’s voice fell out all at once. It startled Dick, and it wasn't until that moment that he remembered they weren't alone in this manor.

“ _Shh_ , Damian.”

He leaned over Damian, chest pressed against his back. Arm wrapped around his middle, pulling him in close. Their bodies felt so warm pressed together. It felt comforting, to hold Damian like this.

His hips rolled forward, particularly deep. Damian’s hands clenched in the sheets, his knuckles white.

“Move faster,” Damian said, voice breathy. Dick would have been happy to comply—but there was something urgent to Damian’s voice, and Dick suspected that what Damian really wanted wasn't for Dick to go fast at all.

“Oh, no, baby,” Dick said softly. As he rocked forward, slow enough to feel the full length of his cock moving inside his boy, Damian made a strained sound. “We're going to take it slow.”

Damian let out a shaky breath, that seemed to be released in a heave, voice tinged with pleasure. Dick pushed in all the way and stayed there for a moment, hands running down Damian’s sides as Dick counted the seconds. Damian pulled at the sheets, the fabric wringing in his fists. His body was shaking.

“I want you to feel me, baby boy.”

He rotated his hips, grinding into Damian. Damian gasped sharply.

Dick balanced his weight on his knees. Brought a hand forward to cup Damian’s face. Damian’s face was hot. So hot. Dick groaned. Damian loved this. His boy loved getting fucked.

“Can you be a good boy for me?” Dick said. His fingertips met Damian’s lips. Damian paused for a moment before kissing them tentatively. “Can you lay down on the mattress for me?”

Damian lowered his body so he laid flat on the mattress, and Dick groaned at the feeling of Damian sliding off his cock.

Dick’s hands ran over Damian’s ass, kneading the flesh. He could feel the anticipation in Damian’s shortened breaths.

Dick climbed over Damian’s body, the boy’s legs tucked between his. Dick looked down, aiming his cock at Damian’s entrance, feeling the sweat in his hair as his long bangs fell forward. He slid in, impossibly deep.

Dick groaned deeply, his heart beating faster. Oh fuck, that felt good. That felt really good.

The new position allowed him to sink in even deeper. Damian was so hot, swallowing him so good.

“You're doing such a good job. You're taking my cock so good. I knew you would.”

Everything was getting fuzzy. His heart was beating fast, heat rushing through him.

“Move,” Damian said. His hands were fists on either side of his head. But his chin rested on the surface, head faced toward the headboard. Front pushed into the mattress, Dick’s weight on top of him, making him sink deeper into the bed. And fuck, it was a sick thought, but Dick thought Damian looked so _trapped_ like this. Pinned to the bed by a man much larger, much older, much stronger.

Dick did move. He grinded inside of Damian, not giving Damian what he really wanted—the thrust and feel of his entire length. But as much as Dick loved drawing this out, he could feel pleasure racing up and down his spine. He wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer.

“That's it,” he murmured encouragingly, massaging the back of Damian’s neck. “You feel so good, baby boy.”

He tried not to lean too much weight against Damian’s body. Didn't want to crush him. His skin felt so warm and nice under his hand. His ass perfect as it pressed against him. Damian was singlehandedly the tightest thing Dick had ever been inside of him, his insides squeezing around Dick’s cock.

It was hard not to push deep. Hard not to push faster. Dick tried to keep himself controlled. Tried keeping at a steady pace, cock thrusting in deep.

But it went in _so_ deep. So deep.

Damian’s moans were increasing, luring the speed of Dick’s thrusts.

“Please,” Damian said. And it was impossible to resist that. “Daddy, please.”

Dick was fucking him faster now. He needed more. More of Damian’s voice. More of that friction. More of his cock plowing in deep, splitting his boy in half.

And he did get more. Damian’s voice was like a release. Moans and gasps, one after another. As Dick picked up his pace, Damian’s sounds chased after him. Rising in desperation and heat and pleasure—whining, begging, damn near crying, for more—

“Like that—”

“Like what?” Dick said, his words running, voice almost sharp in the way they cut in. “Need me to fuck you harder?”

Suddenly, Damian was vice tight around him. The cry that followed was buried deep into the mattress. Dick’s vision flashed as Damian clenched around him. Damian moved, hips stuttering but having nowhere to go with Dick heavy on top of him, as he reached his orgasm.

Dick cursed. He placed a hand in the back of Damian’s hair, pushing him toward the bed, forcefully stifling his cries as he drove repeatedly into Damian. Splitting him open. Fucking into his sensitive body. Pushing him repeatedly into the mattress.

All while trying to chase that white hot pleasure surrounding his cock. Damian clenched so tight around him, hole trembling around his length—

Dick wasn't gentle, he was desperate. Desperate to fuck, desperate to come. He was so close. And Damian was not quiet, though he tried to be, but he wasn't protesting. And every sound made Dick drill into him that much more.

His thrusts were erratic. Sweat in his hair. The smell of sex deep in his senses. His pace uncontrolled. The mattress trembling. He was so close and Damian was tight and he was so close—

“You're so good, baby. So good for me. So good for daddy.”

And Dick finally let up, lifting off of Damian’s body long enough to wrap his hands around the small hips. Pushing his cock as deep as it could go.

Pleasure raced down Dick’s spine. He could feel his toes curl, his body tremble. He gasped, nearly breathless, as he came. Hot seed filled deep inside of Damian, wrapped around Dick’s cock. Hot and thick.

Everything went hazy. Dick’s whole body felt suddenly cold, suddenly sensitive. He pulled out after a moment, still shaking. Pleasure running up and down his body. After he pulled out, Damian lifted himself on one elbow. Dick stared through heavy-lidded eyes, as his seed dripped down Damian’s crease and thighs. Before lifting back up to Damian’s face. When they locked gazes, Dick’s emotions swelled up inside of his chest.

Dick leaned in, kissing the wet corners of Damian’s eyes, then his mouth. He finally fell to the mattress, where he wrapped Damian in his arms, kissing him deep.

When he pulled away, he felt Damian murmur his name against his lips.

 

The winds had been growing colder lately. The nights a little longer. It had been a good summer—but Dick supposed all good things came to an end at some point.

He wasn't alerted to the sound of the approaching figure. It took a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. Only one person could sneak up on Dick so Dick made sure to look at his approacher’s face before automatically chopping the guy.

“All that time away and you still got it,” Dick said, forcing a smile.

Bruce… Batman… didn't smile in return.

“Slow night,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah,” Dick said.

Small talk.

They never did small talk.

“Where's your sidekick?” Dick asked anyways.

“Home,” Bruce said. After a long moment, he finally said, “I want to thank you. For everything you did while I was away. Everything.”

He didn't have to say it directly but Dick understood what he meant. Dick steeled his heart, shifting in place uncomfortably as another wind passed by. He felt torn.

Happy that things returned to their natural state.

Sad about change and the things left behind.

“It's good to have you back,” he said, because at least that part was honest. He had missed Bruce. Missed him so much.

“I had a favor to ask.”

Small talk was finally over. Dick listened.

“Not a favor, perhaps. _Advice_.” It wasn't often Bruce fumbled with his words. And it was even less often that he asked for help. Dick looked at Bruce curiously, his full attention now grabbed. Wondering what he could possibly advise to the man who knew everything. “I can't seem to connect.”

“Connect?”

“With… Robin.”

Oh.

“He's not like you… or the others… he's talented, but arrogant. Helpful, but prideful. On missions, he's difficult to control, and I'm afraid scolding him is only making things worse. But at the same time, I can't condone the dangerous decisions he makes.”

“That's not something you're going to break,” Dick said, head turning. Trying to conceal his expression.

Internally, he was panicking.

Different thoughts ran through his mind.

He should tell Bruce.

Bruce would hate him for it. But. He deserved to know.

Dick could barely breathe. How did he expect to keep his filthy secret away from the world’s greatest detective?

“You two worked together. I don't how you did it but… he respects you.”

“He respects you too. Admires you, even.” Damian wanted to be close to his father. Dick knew that. He wanted that bond, even if it meant settling for Dick’s strange perversions instead.

“Yes. But you went from nothing and built your way up to respect, camaraderie. I need to build things from his respect for me as his blood to respect for me as a mentor.”

At that, Dick stopped.

“You…” His brow furrowed. He felt so lost and confused. “You want to be more like a _mentor_.”

“I need him to trust my orders,” Bruce said.

A dull anger rose inside of Dick’s chest.

After all the months. All the missions. All the time spent together.

Why would Bruce want to be a mentor when he already had the greatest position in Damian’s life? The position of being his _father_?

Dick, on the other hand… Dick… all he could be, all he ever could be, was a _mentor_.

“I don't know what to tell you,” Dick said, perhaps sharper than he intended to. He was losing his grip. He was losing his fucking grip. Bruce’s eyes must be boring into him right now.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“I see,” Bruce said, defeated, and Dick felt so torn. Torn between selfish desire and helping his greatest friend.

It wasn't right of him to do this.

It wasn't right of him to claim Damian for his own.

Hadn't he known, since the very beginning, that it was just pretend?

Both Bruce and Damian deserved better.

“Don't push him too hard,” Dick said after a moment.

And as Bruce listened and Dick spoke, Dick could feel his fears begin to slip away.

It was okay.

He could do this.

Because he loved them.

 

Dick was moved into his apartment—it didn't compare to a manor, and some of his things were still in boxes, but in ways it was good to have his own place again.

It was late at night and Dick was about to get ready for patrol when he heard a loud knock on his door. Dick hurried to open it—and when he saw his visitor, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

“Robin,” he said. Before he could drag Damian inside, out of sight from where a neighbor could poke their head out at _any moment_ , Damian was already shoving his way inside. The boy stomped to the middle of his living room, Dick chasing after him. “Damian, what are you doing here—in _uniform_ , no less, you could completely blow my identity—”

Damian growled and took off his mask, throwing it on Dick’s coffee table. Dick scowled at the melodramatics.

“You need to talk to him!” Damian snapped.

“Talk to who? And lower your voice.”

“Who _else_?” Damian said, pacing back and forth across the room. He was all wild hand gestures, far from his usual self. “He suspended me!”

“What did you do?” Dick said, frowning. Damian stopped, glaring at Dick.

“You're taking his side?!” Damian said. Before Dick could open his mouth to respond, Damian was already snapping, “I didn't _do_ anything. I did my job!”

“I just need to know _more_ , Damian. Talk to me.”

Damian just glared at the ground, steaming.

In a rueful voice, he muttered, “You have to take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“The _cowl_ ,” Damian said with a snarl, as if it was so obvious. At that, Dick snorted.

“I'm not doing that,” he said firmly. “I didn't even want it to begin with.”

At that, Damian frowned, looking almost taken aback. As if such a concept wouldn't even register. But then he reverted back to his usual anger, “Does Batman and Robin mean nothing to you?”

“What do you want me to do, Damian?” Dick said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I was just a substitute. I'm _not_ Batman. Maybe I was, for a little bit of time. But not anymore.”

“What do I want you to do? I want you to _fight_ for it instead of rolling over, you coward!” Damian demanded.

“You're acting completely _spoiled_ right now, Damian,” Dick said. He could feel his heart racing, his blood beginning to boil. Damian shouldn't be here. He picked up Damian’s mask, tried to hand it back, but Damian smacked it out of his hand. Dick pulled back his frustration. Tried to stay patient. He took in a deep breath, said in a slower voice, “I’m sorry Bruce is such a hardass. But the bottom line is that your father's _alive_. You should _want_ to work with him.”

“I don't care!”

“Don't say that! He's your father!” Dick finally snapped, raising his voice.

Dick tried not to get angry—and Damian’s silence was telling of how badly Dick’s had snapped. Dick didn't regret yelling, even as he watched Damian’s expression darken.

Bruce. God knows he wasn't perfect, far from it, but Dick still respected him. When Dick had no one else, Bruce took him in, even though there was no possible way he could have been ready for it. Bruce gave him a home, a family, a purpose.

He gave him Damian.

Despite all shortcomings, Bruce still did so much to protect everyone. He nearly gave his life for it. He deserved a chance. And Damian might not realize it now, but he had things good. He had what many people didn't have, and a chance to do things over.

If John or Mary had come back to life...

“You're a liar,” Damian shot back angrily, but with less conviction. “All those stupid lectures about being a team never meant anything to you!”

Damian was being a brat. Dick knew it. But his chest began to twist all the same.

He couldn't fulfil Damian’s wishes. But he didn't want Damian to hate him. He didn't want to go back to square one.

“Damian,” Dick said with a heavy sigh, as the boy started to turn away from him. “You know that's not true.”

“It's all ruined,” Damian said, insistent. He turned away completely and Dick’s eyes rolled from the melodrama of it all. When Damian started to head for the exit, Dick grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back in.

“Damian, come on. Don't say that,” Dick said sharply. “Nothing’s changed—”

Dick forcefully turned Damian back towards him, who resisted, but not strongly enough. Their eyes locked, just for a brief second, and Dick caught a long enough glimpse at Damian’s glistening eyes.

Oh.

Dick stopped, long enough to let go. Damian turned away, pulling his hood back up, swiping his mask off the floor, and he moved toward the door yet again.

“Damian,” Dick said softly, grabbing him by the back of the cape. This time, Damian stilled. Dick sighed heavily, heart twisting. He gently pulled the back of Damian’s hood, the fabric slipping to his shoulders. His boy didn't look at him—kept his head forward. Dick ran a hand through the back of his hair. “It’s okay, baby.”

Damian whipped around suddenly, slapping Dick’s hand away. His expression had returned to its usual sternness, his glare rueful.

Dick didn't let that sway him. He knelt beside him, so their eyes could meet at equal level. His hand rested against Damian’s cheek and he said as earnestly as he could, while Damian’s glare focused in on him, “I'm not going anywhere.”

The intensity in Damian’s eyes softened ever so slightly. Dick took his opening, pressing his lips against Damian’s forehead. When Damian didn't pull away, Dick dared to kiss him on the lips.

It happened suddenly, small fingers tangling through Dick’s hair. Pulling him in deeper. Insisting on keeping him in place, their mouths crushed together.

Dick couldn't deny him.

He never could.

 

Dick hadn't tested the sound in his new apartment yet. There was a possibility they were being too loud but he was well past caring about such things.

His mattress was squeaking something fierce as he bounced Damian in his lap, driving his thrusts upwards into Damian’s ass.

Dick should be on patrol right now.

Damian should be at home right now.

But Damian was here and Dick was sitting on the bed, hands wrapped around his boy’s small frame, thumbs brushing over Damian’s nipples. Damian’s legs were wrapped tight around Dick’s middle, sitting on his cock.

Dick didn't want to be rough. But in reality the time it took for them to take off their clothes and for Dick to shove himself inside of Damian was far too rushed. The boy was tight and difficult to thrust into, all friction and heat, and while that should have slowed Dick down, it didn't.

He thought the separation would have made things return to normal.

It didn't. It only hurt.

It was wrong. And it never should have happened. But Dick now occupied a place inside of Damian’s life. What type of place, Dick didn't know. Something indescribable. Something irreplaceable.

Damian’s hands were wrapped behind Dick’s neck, trying to keep himself balanced. Dick hooked a hand under Damian’s thigh. Propping it up. Driving his cock in deeper, their bodies meeting with a sound at every thrust. Out of Damian’s mouth are a slur of titles. _Grayson. Richard_. _Father_. _Daddy_.

Dick could feel their skin sticking together from the sweat. Could feel the ache in his lower back from staying stooped over for Damian to hold onto, from driving his thrusts while in a sitting position. But it felt good and Damian—from every sound he could hear to every inch of skin he could see and smell and taste—was driving him crazy.

“You're so tight, baby,” Dick said, mind hazy. Drunk on every sensation running through his body, the walls hugged around his cock, squeezing him.

He fucked him like a lover. All passion and instinct, no logic to hold him back. Chasing after the hot pleasure that sent shivers down his spine.

The ache spread to his thighs. He finally set Damian onto the mattress, Damian making this almost pitiful _sound_ as Dick pulled out.

Sometimes it was like he did it just to get under Dick’s skin. To fuck with his head and make him lose all control.

Like he just knew how easily Dick would cave in, do anything to take care of him.

“Don't worry, sweetheart.”

He would take care of him.

He could see Damian’s face more clearly now. Dick's got both knees on the bed and he was dragging Damian across the bed toward him. Until their bodies met. Until Damian’s legs were propped open on either side of him. And he looked into that face, saw the dark desire hidden in those dilated eyes.

It made him want to fuck Damian so hard. Fuck him until he screamed and cried. But the willingness in Damian kept Dick from doing something rash. This wasn't about him. This was for Damian.

He was going to make him feel good. He was going to take care of him and protect him. He was going to love him even when he was difficult. He was going to fill in all the gaps that Bruce’s heart could be incapable of filling.

And maybe it wasn't normal. But they were fucked up long before they even knew the other existed and maybe that didn't make this okay but the way they were drawn to one another felt so uncontrollable, so inevitable. It felt like something had hooked itself inside of Dick’s chest and pulled him, dragged him, toward this boy.

Dick buried himself deep. So deep it was like their bodies had become one. Damian cried out as he came. Body tightening around Dick and Dick was coming too. Coming with him. Coming inside him.

Dick collapsed on top of him. He was exhausted but he had never felt so awake. The pleasure began to subside and the guilt began to rise. Dick pulled out and cleaned them both off.

He sat on his bed, catching his breath. Mind processing what happened. Trying to decide the next big step. Trying to come to terms with the fact that he just promised this boy his full commitment.

He wondered what he should have done instead with the crying boy in his living room. There were probably a million better things he could have done.

Dick suddenly felt a hand touch his knee. He looked up. Damian’s gaze was lowered, eyes focused on the space between them. Dick knew Damian’s feelings too well, even if Damian would never say it. Even if the best comfort he could offer for Dick’s guilt was a simple touch.

Heart aching, Dick convinced himself that it couldn't be helped.

He was already his.

Dick buried his fingers in the boy’s hair. Damian turned his head toward him, big eyes searching, before finally closing. Leaning into Dick’s touch.

He knew it was wrong.

But Dick felt this warmth spread inside of his chest. This comforting, soothing warmth. He leaned in, kissed Damian’s forehead. Murmured against his skin.

“That's my boy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

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> i'm sorry please forgive me


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